


Interstate Blues

by genocideandgenesis



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Backstory, Gen, It is Stanley after all, Road Trips, Spoilers - A Tale of Two Stans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 14:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4483346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genocideandgenesis/pseuds/genocideandgenesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stan’s drive to Gravity Falls isn’t exactly short, and it’s not like he has anyone to keep him company, not even the radio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interstate Blues

The window wasn’t broken; it just whistled a little. Okay, a _lot_ , and it was seriously starting to get on his nerves.

“If you don’t pipe down, I’ll break you for real!” Stanley threatened, taking his left hand off the wheel to wave one fist at the window in question. “I mean it!”

The window whistled in response.

“Ugh!” Stan made a face and returned his hand to the wheel. By his best estimate, it was just after three in the morning, and the roads showed it. Nobody in their right mind would be out on Route 5 this late, except maybe the losers who had nowhere else to go. Losers like him.

After another five miles, the whistling still hadn’t stopped. The window had started acting up some three hours ago. At first used it as harmony for a terrible, off-key song he’d made up based on bumper stickers on cars in front of him, but that had gotten old fast.

If only he hadn’t gotten rid of his duct tape back at the Mexico border to get rid of those cops who’d been following him up the freeway. Then he could have patched it.

The radio didn’t work, either. It was too old now, and it wasn’t like he was dripping in extra money for repairs. He was lucky if he kept gas in the old hunk of metal.

Speaking of which – it was a little too dark to see how much gas he had left, but it probably wasn’t much. He’d have to pull over soon, find a shady gas station, maybe try to bribe the attendant with a Stan-Vac, hope the guy hadn’t heard of them, and probably get tossed out of another gas station. Stanley lifted his right hand from the wheel to pat down his right pocket; last he’d checked, he had enough money to fill up the tank.

“Worst case, I can always rob a guy,” Stan said, and laughed at his own joke, because there was no one else around to do it.

The window was still whistling at him as he passed through Red Bluff, California.

—

The gas station was stuffy inside, but it was open.

“That’ll be four dollars,” the man behind the counter said, and Stan was rooting in his pockets for the money when he noticed the selection of candy bars on display. His mouth watered, and he put one hand on his stomach, which flipped queasily. It occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten since… well… Good question, actually, and he didn’t know the answer. 

Time to invent a good distraction.

“Why do you have a counterfeit dollar on your wall?” Stan blurted, pointing behind the attendant’s head. While the kid turned to look, he snatched one of the candy bars and stuffed it into his ratty sweatshirt pocket.

“There isn’t a dollar,” the kid said, a little confused, mostly bored.

“Oh, huh, well, that’s suspicious, eh, kid? Certainly wouldn’t be because I’m trying to steal from you!”

“Gonna give me cash, old guy? I said, that’ll be four dollars.”

Stan reached into his pocket and came up with two fifty. He’d already pumped the gas. “Here, take it, kid,” he said, slamming it on the counter.

“That’s not enough!” said the cashier.

Stan shoved his hands into his pockets and kicked the door open with one foot. “It’s not my fault gas prices are high,” he said. “Talk to your boss or somethin’, I don’t know. Get a better job. Hey, you ever hear of Stan-Vac?”

“Get outta here before I call the cops!”

Another night, Stan might’ve stayed to argue, just to hear a voice that wasn’t his, but he was hungry. He retreated to the car and had devoured the candy bar before he was back on the interstate.

—

The window was still whistling, and the car had gotten noticeably colder the farther north he got. He’d put on a hat, partly because it was cold, but also because it covered his greasy hair. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him.

He’d taken to talking to someone who wasn’t there, someone who hadn’t ridden in this car in years.

“Hi, Stanford, you jerk,” Stanley said.

Too callous. Then again, maybe it was fitting.

“Hey, it’s my favorite twin brother! Out of necessity, not by choice–”

That wouldn’t work either.

“So, how’s your life, Mr. Fancy Doctor McDoctorpants?” He was a doctor, wasn’t he? Probably. The kid had brains out the wazoo. Unless he’d rotted them away which, well, it was possible. Who knew how Stanford had weathered the 70s.

“High six?” he said, and then slapped his knee, wheezing with laughter. That was a good one.

“Why do you need me _now_?” he asked. “What’s so important that you finally need to see your brother Stanley, huh, Sixer? Want me to hold your textbooks for you? Do you just want me there so you can feel important?”

The window whistled in reply, but Stanford sure didn’t. Stanley was grateful that no one was out on the highway this time of night.

“You didn’t see anything,” he admonished the window as he wiped his watery eyes. It was just the lack of sleep that was getting to him.

—

There was snow in Oregon. Stanley, who had spent the last three months of his life hiding out just south of San Diego, wasn’t impressed. Not even close.

“What the hell is this nonsense? How’s a man supposed to keep warm in this weather?” He huddled into his sweatshirt. “Looks like I’m going to need to find some kinda coat.” Coats weren’t really the kind of thing he’d needed often, not where he’d been living lately.

He’d just passed through a town just a little north of Normal, Oregon. Earlier he’d gotten a little lost, couldn’t quite read the map while driving, all that. His eyesight was going downhill fast. He’d have to see a doctor soon. Ha! Doctors. Bunch of quacks, all of them, too expensive anyway. He’d make do. It wasn’t like he did a lot of reading.

“Ugh, the sun’s gotta be so _bright_ all the time. What do we need all this light for? Seeing? I see just fine with headlights!”

The heat in the car didn’t work, he was pretty sure. Even with the hat and the sweatshirt, it was still cold, and he was shivering.

Two hours later, it had clouded over and started to snow again. Stan pretended he could feel his gloved hands where they were clenched against the steering wheel.

—

“Weird,” Stan said. “That’s a doozy. Who’d name their town _that_? Does that even make sense? ‘Hi, everybody, I’m from Weird’! Who would name a _town_ like that?”

It was what the map said, and he’d just driven through it, headed west. 

“Someone weird,” he decided, out loud.

He couldn’t feel his left foot. He tried tapping it on the floor for warmth.

“Not far now,” Stan told the highway. “Not far now.”

—

It was still snowing as he passed the first sign for Gravity Falls, Oregon. Only fifteen miles away. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of my ongoing a-z prompt challenge with howlsmovingwalmart, this time for "e is for endless." Thanks for reading!


End file.
